The House Always Wins
by EvergreenGirl
Summary: When the Guardians' spaceship is lost in a bet, the only person who can help them get it back is a nearly immortal mutant with adamantium claws—Wolverine. But is the enemy of my enemy really my friend? Or will they tear each other apart before they can recover the Milano?
1. Rocket's bet

*****SPOILER ALERT*******: **Don't read this story unless you've seen _Guardians of the Galaxy_! There might be a couple _X-Men_ or Wolverine spoilers in the last few chapter, so watch out!

**What's up Guardians of the Galaxy and Wolverine fans? Huge shoutout to my cool big brother who thought to cross them over! I made up the story and wrote this myself, though. Don't worry, Wolverine will come into the story soon! Enjoy!**

* * *

**1. Rocket's bet**

"Hit me," he pressed.

His shiny black eyes darted back and forth between his cards and the dealer's hands. The raccoon had a ten of clubs, a seven of spades, and a two of diamonds. He _knew_ the next card would be a one of either clubs or spades. He'd been paying close attention—counting cards, more specifically. That's always how he played Blackjack; he was thrown out of multiple casinos for it, too. And he'd never lost a game, ever. He placed his final bet, but he was cleaned out of money from a previous game of Roulette. Rocket was so confident, he'd bet the Milano, and besides, it was all he had left. But technically, it wasn't solely his. Peter Quill would most likely wring his furry neck if he found out about the dangerous wager, but Rocket knew the next card. It was an intense moment as the purple-skinned woman in a risqué Quasar Hotel and Casino's uniform pulled a card from the deck. The other players—aliens—tilted nearer the table, beads of sweat coating their brows in malicious suspense. A sly grin split Rocket's face. His heart thumped with exhilaration, not worry. Oh, the rush of adrenaline; he lived for it. Since his lifespan was short and fleeting, he planned to make the most of every precious little moment. The dealer brought her amethyst arm down to the green felt, setting the card on Rocket's two of diamonds. A collective gasp escaped his audience of intergalactic, sentient beings. "That's a bust," the dealer said.

It was a four of hearts. "What!?" protested Rocket.

"_That's_ a _bust_," the dealer repeated herself. "It's over twenty-one."

He was doing so well up to that point. How could he have slipped up like that? The dealer pulled the chips away and the title to the spaceship. "Whoa! Hold up there, bub! I _never_ lose at Blackjack! There's no way!"

"Sir, you need to leave," a muscular security guard told the raccoon, grabbing his small arm.

"Hey, hands off or I'll just cap you right now!"

Rocket lifted his monstrous gun to the guard's face. All the other guard's pointed their high-tech machineguns at Rocket's head. "You sick, cheating bastards!" Rocket yelled.

Before he could make a move, the guards wrestled the gun away from him and tossed him out of the casino. Rocket plopped down on the ledge outside the door, which was now locked behind him. His team would probably slaughter his hide . . . unless he could steal back the Milano before they found out. But he'd need Groot's help, at least. Where was the living tree creature? Rocket bolted to his feet. Groot was still on the ship! His padded feet thumped the ground as he scurried down the hovering staircase to the parking lot. The planet's three moons lit up the dark gray night sky, making the flying vehicles look dull in color. The raccoon spun around a few times. Where was their spaceship? He was so drunk when he'd parked it the day before, he didn't even remember where. "GROOT!" he shouted, staring off at the multicolored, pulsating city lights on the horizon.

There was a touch on Rocket's shoulder, and he pulled out his dagger, spinning around to face the hand's origin. "I am Groot," his friend replied in that deep voice rough as tree bark.

"Oh, Groot, I thought you were still on the ship," Rocket sighed, sticking his blade back in the sheath on his faux-leather pants. "I lost at Blackjack!"

Groot shrugged. "I am Groot."

"I know, I know, they say 'the house always wins,' but _you_ know I never lose! We've been to how many different casinos across the galaxy? I've lost track. But I've never lost one single game since we've been pals!"

The tree creature lifted his friend to sit on his shoulder. "They took my gun, too," the raccoon groaned. "I'm never going back to that casino again, except maybe to shoot their asses. And, uh, I kind of bet the Milano."

"I am _Groot_," he groused back, glaring.

"Don't look at me like that! If you had a thousand something winning streak, and were out of cash, wouldn't you bet your ship? I couldn't just quit when I knew the cards! The sons of bitches must be pulling extra cards out from under the table where no one could count them. Quasar Hotel and Casino has _no_ clue who they're messing with!"

Groot grew his tree branch arm out to a sharp point, brandishing it in the air like a weapon. "Oh, now we're talking! But before we shiv them, where'd I park the ship?" inquired Rocket.

"I am Groot?"

"No, I don't remember! I was totally wasted! We both were, weren't we?"

"I _am_ Groot," he stated negatively.

"Oh, yeah, you were drinking liquid fertilizer instead. Sorry, I forgot that too. Damn it, man, just tell me where I parked!"

Groot pointed to the sky. "The valet's already taking off with our ship!" cried the raccoon as the yellow-orange and blue ship hovered into the air. "All our stuff's still on board! Ugh, Quill's going to have a fit. And with my lingering hangover, I seriously don't want to have to deal with his juvenility right now. If you tell him, I won't speak to you for one revolution around Sirius!"

"I am Groot."

"Yeah, you're right; he probably wouldn't understand what you mean anyway. Let's go see if we can get a valet to spill his guts."

Groot lumbered back to the front of the casino, where the purple-skinned valets were taking people's keys. Groot went up behind one of them, and Rocket slipped his knife against the young man's throat. "Where's my spaceship?"

The scrawny teenager started quivering like a leaf in a hypercane on Jupiter. "I don't know, dude! I didn't take anyone's ship today! The manager put me at the valets' desk. We keep a log. Just check the log! And if we've got your vehicle, the key should be there, too! Just please don't hurt me!"

"Don't be such a wuss," Rocket retorted, and put his knife away. "And I'm taking your tip jar."

When Rocket and Groot went to the valet desk, the key was gone, of course. The log didn't say anything about where the casino employees took the Milano after it left the lot. It only had the time it was checked in and out. The raccoon picked up the glass jar of alien bills and coins with him as they left. "We're going to have to check with management next, but I'm pooped," Rocket told Groot. "Gambling is exhausting. You want to get some food?"

"I am Groot."

"Yep, I'm game for Kamikaze's. But we better eat fast."

* * *

"Where the hell are Rocket and Groot?" Peter Quill, a.k.a. Star-Lord, asked Gamora as they were fleeing a vengeful alien he'd spited. "They should've come back three hours ago!"

Drax was sprinting backwards, throwing knives at the nine foot tall, bird-like humanoid from the Altair system. "He isn't slowing down," Drax told Quill.

"Well, duh! Carrageen can dodge your throws like nothing else. He has cat-like reflexes. It's ironic since he looks like a bird, and since cats eat birds, but—"

"We would _not_ be in this situation if you could control your mouth, Quill," Gamora snapped.

"Hey, first off, it's Star-Lord, _Star-Lord_. And second, what does that mean?! I called him an A-hole, so what? Drax called you a whore once, and you didn't hold _that_ against him."

"_I'm_ not a sociopath. And no, you shouldn't have insulted him. You should have taken into account the fact that Altairians are infamous for holding grudges. That and you're extremely loud! If you could be silent, we would've gotten away in the crowd back there."

"Look, you got to poke the bear every once in a while. Because then, when it chases you to bite your face off, you can shoot it in the head so it can't bother you again," Star-Lord responded.

"What bear?" wondered Gamora. "It doesn't sound wise to poke a feral animal, whether or not you succeed in killing it."

"It's a metaphor! You guys don't get out enough."

As they ran, Quill tripped on a chink in the cobblestone street. His face and arm scraped the ground, splitting his skin. Carrageen's slimy hands snatched Star-Lord by the ankles. Quill dangled from the birdman's grasp. His face was turning a deep shade of red from the blood rushing into it. "Look, Carrageen, if you were me, you would've cheated on your sister, too," Star-Lord said. "The word butt-ugly is _such_ an understatement."

The Altairian slammed Quill back-first into the street. He grunted in pain at a couple of his vertebrae getting hairline fractures. "You know, the only reason I went out with her in the first place is because someone at a bar bet one hundred rubies that I wouldn't stand a day with her. I won the bet, so if you want, I'll give you two percent for emotional damages," he said, his teeth clenched in agony.

Carrageen yelled and attempted to stomp on Quill's abdomen, but he rolled out of the way just in time. Drax helped Star-Lord scramble to his feet, his spine popping painfully as it straightened out. "Alright, ten percent, but I'm _not_ going any higher!" shouted Quill. "Ten percent going once . . . going twice . . .!"

While the bird alien was distracted, Gamora leapt onto his back, stabbing him in both sides of his feathery neck. She jumped off and Carrageen fell to the ground, dead. Turquoise blood pooled from his lifeless corpse. ". . . and sold to the green assassin!"

Gamora scowled at Quill. "Let's locate Groot and Rocket. But, please, don't anger any other adversaries of yours on the way," she pleaded.

* * *

"You threw him out? Why?" Star-Lord asked the dealer at the Blackjack table. "It's not that it doesn't sound like Rocket to get thrown out of here, but he's not _entirely_ an idiot."

"He lost a game, and he was being disruptive. He was out of money, too. He'd borrowed the maximum amount of money allowed. The casino couldn't legally lend him any more chips. He thought I'd cheated him when he lost."

"Well, did you?"

The purple woman's gaze dropped to the floor. "Mm-hmm, that's what I thought. _Bastards_," Quill said.

"He said the same thing," she stated.

"Where'd he go when he was thrown out?"

She shrugged. "I don't know. I had other players to tend to besides your pet, you know."

"My pet?!" the outlaw exclaimed. "Ha! You'd be sorry if he heard you say that."

"I'm sure one of the valets saw him."

The three strolled out the front revolving door. They found the valet at the desk, shakily scribbling in the log book. He jumped in surprise when he saw them, nearly falling backwards. "You—you're . . . the Guardians of the Galaxy!"

"We're some of them. Did you see the other two? One of them is a talking tree that only knows three words, and the other's a snarky, genetically engineered raccoon," Quill described.

"Oh, yeah, I saw them! They're Guardians, too? I think they wanted the key to their ship, but another valet already had it."

"Who had it?"

"I don't know. But I might be able to find out."

"Did you see where they went?"

"Uh, I think they headed to Kamikaze's Grill," the young valet pointed down the street. "The place's several kilometers that way."

"Alright, Mr. . . ."

"Jorgen, Darian Jorgen," the alien teen replied, smiling.

"Alright Darian, find out who has the keys. And when you know, meet us at the grill, okay, kid?"

"Anything for you, Star-Lord!" he complied eagerly.

Quill nudged Gamora with his elbow at the mention of his nickname. "See, why can't I get that kind of appreciation from _you_, Gamora?"

"Consider this appreciation," she answered, and twisted his arm until it made a nasty sound.

"Ow! Okay, I get it! I guess _injury_ is now the highest form of flattery."

He rubbed his elbow, resisting the urge to retaliate, a grin forming on his lips.

* * *

"Aw, yeah, all-you-can-eat onion rings," Rocket sighed contentedly. "See, Groot? I told you they were the best."

The raccoon rubbed his overstuffed belly. Groot shrunk to the size of a sapling and sat on the edge of the bar. "I am Groot," he stated, swinging his legs to the beat of the background music.

The restaurant was playing '80s music. Rocket leaned back and closed his eyes. "Don't worry; we'll leave in ten minutes."

"I am Groot!"

"What do you mean 'they're here'?" Rocket asked, sitting up in shock. He spun around in the chair. "Damn."

Sure enough, Star-Lord, Gamora, and Drax had just pushed through the swinging doors. "Rocket!" called Quill, fast-walking toward them.

"Oh, no," whispered Rocket.

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**Thanks for reading! **_**Please review, favorite, and follow!**_** WE ARE GROOT!**


	2. Please and thank you

**Hello! Here's the next chapter! No Wolverine yet, but I had to develop the story line first. He's coming soon, though, and I hope you'll think it's awesome. Review? Please? Thank you! Share if you liked it! :D**

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**2. Please and thank you**

"What the hell did you do to my ship?!" Star-Lord demanded when he reached the bar.

Rocket stood up on the stool. "Look, Quill, I've got everything under control. There was a bit of a mix up, but I'll get your Milano back, alright?"

"What kind of 'mix up'? I let you borrow her for _one_ day and you lose her!"

The raccoon sighed. "I didn't lose her . . . per say. Technically, she's with a valet."

"'Per say'? What did you do!?"

"I am Groot," the tree creature cut in.

Rocket gasped. "How could you try to sell me out like that, Groot?"

"What? What did he say?" Quill wondered.

"He said 'I am Groot,' Jackass."

Star-Lord crossed his arms. "You know that's not what I meant."

"Oh, fine! I'll tell you what happened, but only because you'd figure it out eventually anyway. I was out of units, so I bet the ship to get through the end of Blackjack."

"What the hell were you thinking!? Damn it, Rocket! Were you drunk?! The Milano's _MY_ ship!" Quill grabbed the front of Rocket's shirt.

Quill was at his last straw. He was sick and tired of Rocket messing with him. "I _always_ win, okay?" Rocket defended himself. "I mean, I didn't win this time, but that's because they cheated! Groot and I were going to go talk to management at the casino after we ate, alright, Porcupine?"

Star-Lord pulled Rocket closer to his face. "If I don't get my spaceship back, I'm going to kill you, _Raccoon_."

"Peter, stop!" interjected Gamora. "We can settle this without bloodshed."

"I could kill him without leaving a single drop of blood," Drax mused.

Gamora rolled her eyes. "No one's going to kill Rocket!"

Star-Lord pulled his fingers from the raccoon's clothing. "You are _so_ lucky I have a conscience," Quill whispered.

"Since when do _you_ have a conscience? Last time I checked, _none_ of us did," Rocket stated.

"So defeating Ronan and saving thousands of lives didn't require a conscience?"

Rocket stuffed his little hands into his pockets, not saying another word. There was a loud clatter at the front of the restaurant; a purple teenager in a huge fedora had tumbled over a table. Yellow drink spilled all over a customer, food went flying, and the kid attempted to clean it up, making the victim of his absentmindedness even more agitated. "I'm so sorry, Sir—oh, you're a ma'am! Sorry!"

Quill, recognizing the kid, strolled over to the table to save the day. "Forgive my buddy, here, Miss," he said, wrapping his arm around the boy's shoulders. "I call you 'Miss' because, well, you look _so_ young. Are you single?"

The bloated, blob-like alien blushed. Star-Lord beamed his charming, signature smile. "We're so sorry to have disturbed you. My pal's such a klutz."

They walked away, Quill's arm still around the kid. When they got to the bar where the others were, he let go. "What's up, Darian?" asked Star-Lord.

"Uh, thanks for the save back there! Anyway . . . My manager wouldn't tell me where you guys' ship got taken. He fired me for asking, actually. I'm the first Jorgen to not be a valet! But that's okay; my mother tried to eat me when I was a baby, so—"

"You're getting off track there, kid," Quill cut him off. "The Guardians of the Galaxy have to go now, but thanks for your help, Darian."

"Of course, Star-Lord," he replied.

The Guardians headed for the door, but before Quill walked out, he told Darian, "Oh, and lose the fedora, Indiana Jones."

Star-Lord sauntered out the door. Darian took off the hat. "Who . . .?"

* * *

Peter Quill, Gamora, and Drax wandered up to the desk clerk in Quasar's Hotel and Casino. Since Rocket had been banned, he waited outside with Groot keeping an eye on him. "Can I speak to the manager?" Quill asked the man whose skin was purple like all the other employees.

"You mean 'May I?'. And yes, you may, but only if you have an appointment. Do you have an appointment?"

"Why on Earth would I need to have an appointment to speak to a _manager_?"

"Well, Sir, I don't know how things work on Earth, but here on the planet Bergius you have to have an appointment for the safety of the manager. Customer-on-staff crime is as common here as on Knowhere," the clerk said matter-of-factly.

"What about staff-on-customer crime? Like what you did to a _very close_ friend of mine. Just go get the manager!"

"I'm offended! Are all humans this moronic?!"

"No, and I'm offended at your tone! How do you expect to get more customers with terrible service like this?"

The clerk darted off to a back room. Quill slouched against the counter impatiently. After a few moments of silence, a brown, furry alien came up to the desk. "You wanted to speak with me?" he asked Quill.

"Of course, Alf," Star-Lord replied.

The manager raised an eyebrow. "Alf?" he muttered.

"The classic TV show? You know, Alien Life Form—Alf? You look kind of like him."

"I don't know. But you can call me whatever makes you more comfortable."

"Finally!" exclaimed Quill dramatically, moving his arms around as he spoke, "Some _real_ customer service around here! Now, tell us where you took my ship, Bitch."

"If it's the ship that talking raccoon lost in a bet, then no, I can't give you that information. It doesn't belong to him anymore. It's the rightful property of Quasar's."

"It wasn't the raccoon's to begin with! It was mine!"

"Well, in that case, I still can't tell you."

"Oh, come on, man! I asked you nicely!"

"Calling me a bitch isn't nice. And whether it was the raccoon's to bet or not, it still belongs to the casino. That is, until it's sold."

"You told me to call you whatever made me more comfortable! Wait—sold?! Why would you do that!?" cried Quill. "Do you have any idea how many valuables I have on that spaceship?"

"Calm down, Sir. It's not the casino's fault if your ship isn't insured."

"I don't care! My stuff's on that ship! Even if the Milano was insured—which it wasn't—nothing can replace my Walkman and Awesome Mix Volumes One and Two!"

"What?"

"Ugh, forget this! You want me to ask nicely? Well, I forgot to say please. Please!" Star-Lord said, punching the manager in the face. When "Alf" hit the floor, Quill muttered, "Thank you."

"Was that necessary?" asked Gamora.

"Are you necessary?" Quill retorted, slipping behind the desk.

"Is that a metaphor?" Drax questioned.

"I am Groot," Groot stated.

"Yeah, it's what he said," Star-Lord sighed, "Nonsense."

His fingers tapped the holographic keyboard to the computer on the desk. "What're you looking for, Star-Lord?" inquired Drax.

"What hotel slash casino this big doesn't keep a record of every single transaction they make? If they don't, they're retarded. Whoever has my ship must be on here somewhere."

"There they are!" screamed the annoying clerk from earlier, wagging a finger at the Guardians.

Quill detached the clear glass screen from its stand and sprinted outside. He skimmed through the files, searching for his ship. "That's got to be a new record!" Rocket cried, standing up off the curb. "You went ten whole minutes before attracting security!"

"We don't have time for your sentiment, Rocket!" he yelled back.

Groot snatched his furry little friend off the ground and caught up with the others. "How are we going to escape without a ship?" Gamora thought aloud.

"I can hotwire a hovercraft. I could do something bigger, like a spaceship, but that'd take too long," Rocket explained.

"And we don't have long," said Star-Lord. "Hurry up!"

Rocket darted to the nearest hovercraft, and Groot smashed the window to let him in. Rocket pulled out wires and fiddled with them, Quill still searching the casino's records. "Here we go! The Milano is scheduled to be purchased by someone named Du Verlierer," he told them.

"What kind of name is that?!" Rocket retorted, turning on the hovercraft.

"I don't know—sounds foreign."

"Just get in!" Gamora ordered.

They scrambled into the flying vehicle, and soared away just before security reached the parking space. The underside of the craft scraped against the roof of the casino, screeching so loud it nearly burst their eardrums. "Pull up!" Quill screamed, clamping his hands over his ears.

"I'm trying! You know, this bucket of bolts wasn't built to fly higher than ten meters off the ground!"

"It's going to have to do for now! They're on our tail!"

A menacing spaceship bumped the back of the craft. A chunk of metal fell off the back. "If only this thing had hyper-drive," Rocket muttered, mainly to himself.

"You could add it at a black market, but this piece of crap isn't worth it," Star-Lord said.

Everyone grabbed something to cling to as the hovercraft dropped out of the sky. It slid down the roofs of buildings until splashing into a giant fountain. They fell to the front of the craft, landing one on top of the other. Quill groaned. "I blame you," he complained to Rocket.

"We will never locate the current holder of the ship if you two can't work together," Gamora pointed out, wriggling out of the pile-up.

"Fine by me, it's _his_ ship anyway! If he wants it back, he can get it himself."

Before Rocket could scurry off, Quill clutched his arm. "You lost it; you're helping get it back. No ifs, ands, or buts."

"You know what? I'm glad I lost your ship. Maybe it'll teach you a little humility," the raccoon snapped.

"Come out with your hands up!" a voice blared outside the hovercraft, interrupting the argument.

"Oh, great, now we're under arrest!" Star-Lord cried.

* * *

"We can't legally hold you for longer than forty-eight hours," the casino manager said.

Security guards shoved Quill into his own holding cell in the hotel office. All five of the Guardians were handcuffed and in individual cells. One of the guards spat on the ground as he left. "That's disgusting," Quill retorted.

Drax, Gamora, Quill, _and_ Groot glared at Rocket. "What, you're all taking Quill's side now? I don't believe this! You act like this is just _my_ fault!"

"You _were_ the one who lost Quill's spaceship," Drax pointed out. "We would not be in prison if you had not bet it."

The raccoon rolled his eyes. "But Star-Lord was stupid enough to let me borrow it. It's partially his fault."

"Don't turn this on me, you little bastard," Quill defended.

"Does it look like I give a crap what you say? I do what I want, and I don't care! What else was I supposed to do?! They cheated me! And they cheated _you_, too! You should be mad at the casino, not me!"

"I'm mad at both of you," Star-Lord grumbled, slumping onto his cot.

"Hey," a prisoner whispered from down the row. "Is your ship being sold to Du Verlierer, too?"

"Yes," Gamora replied.

"I know how you can get it back."

"How is that?"

Quill's and Rocket's attentions were drawn to the conversation.

"He has this guy—his right-hand man. If you can track him down, you can find Verlierer. I'd do it myself, but after the holding period is over for me, I've got life in jail on Xandar."

"Tell me, where is this man?" inquired Gamora.

"That's going to come with a price," the stranger stated.

Quill spoke up, "What do you want?"

"I'll need a thousand units."

"What?!" protested Rocket.

"If my family can't buy a home, the landlord will kick them out because they can't pay rent. Since I'll be in jail the rest of my life, there's nothing I can do."

"Fine," Quill told the prisoner. "I'll transfer the units when we get out of here."

"The man's name is John Holden. He's half Terran, half Xandarian. He hides out on Jupiter's moon, Titan, in the Terran system. He's a fugitive of the Nova Corps, and he knows they won't get closer than a light-year away from Earth."

"What'd he do to the Nova Corps?" Rocket wondered.

"Holden used to be one of them. But then he stole a million units from them, moved to Titan, and became employed by Verlierer. If you want your ship back, he can help you. But be forewarned, he won't just tell you where it or Verlierer is."

"Oh, we'll get it out of him," Quill said confidently.

"Promise me something, please."

"What?"

"Promise me you'll get my ship back, too."

"Why? You can't use it if you're in jail."

"No, but . . . I want you to have it. It only seems fair for what you'll do to help my family."

"I promise. And thank you," Star-Lord replied gratefully, feeling a little better about losing the Milano.

* * *

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